


A Simple Miracle

by PipGirl



Category: Fallout 3
Genre: F/M, Short & Sweet, fluff and a wee bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 22:08:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8685205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PipGirl/pseuds/PipGirl
Summary: Charon meets someone he never expected to.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to a prompt on the Fallout Kink Meme.

This wasn't supposed to happen. It wasn't supposed to be possible. But here he was, looking down at a shocking little miracle.

The lone wanderer smiled up at him from their bed, the newborn tucked into the crook of her arm. She waited, patient, always so patient. She'd wait days for him to get up the nerve to speak his mind; despite her insistence that he was free to say and do as he pleased, two centuries of being bound to his contract held his tongue. If she'd wait days to hear him speak, she'd probably wait months for him to touch this miracle. It might take years.

He sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. The infant, the little girl, was quiet, staring up at him with huge, dark eyes. Her mother's eyes.

He didn't remember anymore what he had looked like with skin. He didn't know if she looked like him at all.

Her skin was soft and pink and perfect. His hand hovered over her, wanting to touch, to feel, to hold, but it seemed wrong somehow. It seemed wrong for this tiny, perfect, soft little thing to have to touch his exposed muscle, his radiation-ravaged flesh. Uneven where she was smooth. Grotesque where she was perfect.

Perfect like her mother, who took his touch as if she craved it. Who touched, patted, caressed, kissed him every chance she got. He didn't know what was wrong with the lone wanderer to make her desire him so, but he was grateful for her damage.

He started to pull his hand away, but the tiny thing reached up for him, a hand impossibly small wrapping around his index finger. She couldn't encircle his finger completely, but she held tight and cooed at him.

He nearly held his breath as she clung to him, afraid his slightest movement might somehow injure her. Damage her.

That touching him might somehow make her like him.

She cooed again and reached out for him with her other hand; he lifted his free hand and let her grip his thumb. She giggled, a pure sound, untainted by life and experience. He suddenly ached to hold her.

As always, the lone wanderer knew what he wanted, and she lifted her daughter toward him. Their daughter. His daughter. He took her carefully, his huge hands cradling her entire body. She continued to stare up at him, no fear or disgust in her eyes. She would learn, eventually, what he was.

He finally found his voice. "What is her name?"

The lone wanderer looked up at him, her expression sad. "Why is it only up to me?"

This debate again. For nine months, she had insisted that he had full say in what to call their child; he hadn't bothered coming up with anything. The fact that he had impregnated his love was astounding. The thought that the fetus would survive to term stretched the bounds of credulity. Despite doctors' assurances, his only concern was that the lone wanderer survive the pregnancy.

A name. A name for this precious, impossible thing. His first thought was that she should share her mother's name, but no; her mother was extraordinary, completely unique, and this little thing was not a copy of her. Also extraordinary, also unique, but in her own way. She should have her own name.

A name that represented what she meant to them, what she meant for them.

He could only think of one word for that.

"Joy."


End file.
